"The best damn Mexican Mennonite drama ever made."
-- Neil Pedley, IFC.com
"I couldn't stop laughing, it was just too much."
-- IMDb Message Board comment
***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****
To describe Silent Light, the third feature from Carlos Reygadas, as "Mennonites in Mexico" is to prize surface accuracy over spiritual truth. Reygadas's film could focus on most any subset of people anywhere, but that seemingly bizarre juxtaposition caught my attention as surely as if he'd made a movie about Muslims in Ireland or Protestants in Iran.
The Calvinists of Denmark's Carl Theodor Dreyer and the Catholics of France’s Robert Bresson may seem less surprising, but Reygadas's effort is as much a work of transcendent cinema: a group lives within a code that denies their essential human nature and yearn to breathe free, but how can they break from the rules and regulations that helped to shape them?
Out standing in his field.
It's easy to over-simplify the minimalist story lines driving such films, and it's just as easy to laugh at them if you're feeling impatient—or "sinister," to quote Belle and Sebastian—because the pace is usually glacial and the tone is beyond sincere. But the visuals are often just as gorgeous, like cinematographer Alexis Zabe's close-up of heavy feet trudging through a flowery field (crunch and all). That said, nothing parodies itself quite like an attempt at transcendence that fails to take flight, i.e. images that just lay there on the screen: flat, dull, and dead.
Not so in Silent Light, where Zabe lends Reygadas's static compositions an unearthly glow. He luxuriates in the Serengeti-like hills in which Johan (Cornelio Wall) and Esther (Miriam Toews) make their home, before introducing them and their six kids (the mostly non-professional cast speaks Plautdietsch, a German-Dutch hybrid, adding to the alien affect).
Austerity aside, they seem like a contented clan, until the unguarded moment in which Johan starts to sob. A few frames later, he picks up a crankshaft for his tractor, as if nothing had happened. Then he admits to mechanic Zacarias (Jacobo Klassen) that he's still seeing Marianne (Maria Pankratz). He tried to stop, but "the pain won't stop digging in." Johan cares deeply for Esther, and feels "like lead being poured into my guts."
You'd think his friend would encourage Johan to be a faithful husband, but he senses something spiritual in this irresistible attraction to Marianne, as if she's his true soul mate, rather than his wife. Johan's preacher father, however, believes that "what is happening to you is the work of the enemy." Either way, Johan continues to see the single restaurateur.
Were this a Dreyer film, there would be no nude bathing scenes or deep soul kisses, but Reygadas (Japón, Battle in Heaven) puts his own earthy spin on the genre rather than recreating what's come before. That said, the outdoor bathing ends when winter sets in, indicating that months have passed and Johan is still vacillating between his wife and his mistress.
Then it's summer again, and a drive through the rain changes everything. Johan can't choose between the women, but nor can he continue as a man split in two, so fate steps in to sort things out, though Reygadas suggests that what happens at the end might not really be happening at all. To paraphrase the dissatisfied viewer above, I didn't laugh, but I'm not sure I bought it either (plus, Dreyer and Bergman beat Reygadas to the punch). Until that point, however, the film had me in its languid spell, and the epilogue is especially enchanting.
Silent Light continues at the Northwest Film Forum through 4/9 at 7 and 9:30pm. The NWFF is located at 1515 12th Ave. For more information, please click here. Images from DVD Times and Gothtronic.com.
"Everything about being indie is tied to not being black."
--Micah (Wyatt Cenac)
***** *****
As it turns out, Joanne left her wallet in the cab, giving Micah an excuse to contact someone who might not otherwise expect to see him again. Using his laptop, he tracks her down, only to find out she has a live-in boyfriend, a never-seen white artist who happens to have a few dollars. So, he's poor, she's not, but attraction is attraction--why does she invite him in if she doesn't share his feelings?
With her boyfriend in London, maybe Joanne is lonely, but that doesn't explain the infidelity, unless that's par for her course. Either way, there's nothing wrong in sharing a cup of coffee. After which, Micah accompanies her on an errand, which leads to bike riding and museum-going, followed by a visit to his Tenderloin pad (Joanne lives in the tonier Marina).
Jenkins shows, but he doesn't tell. The characters don't say everything that passes through their minds—it wouldn't seem naturalistic if they did—so their gestures and the way he stages scenes fills in the blanks.
Similarly, Laxton's hi-def cinematography blurs the distinction between black and white and color. Since San Francisco's African-American population hovers around 7%, the eye-catching move would seem to mark an aesthetic choice, a symbolic selection, or a calculated combination of the two. One way or the other: it looks cool. And it's worth noting that there's a difference between living in San Francisco and working there.
Since the mid-1970s, my father has lived in Daly City, San Francisco, Oakland, and Alameda, so I got to know those cities when I would visit him over the years. If the City by the Bay has a small black population, the story changes once you move into the suburbs. There's a reason, after all, that the Black Panther Party--along with hiphop acts like Digital Underground, Tupac, and Paris--emerged from the East Bay.
That said, Medicine for Melancholy isn't strictly about race, infidelity, gentrification, or class differences. Instead, it touches on all of those topics from the perspective of one couple's sojourn. If Jenkins took a didactic approach, the 29-year-old wouldn't be attracting admirers like Shelton.
Nonetheless, his film won't work as well for those who don't find these characters compelling, and some won't, since Micah can be sarcastic and Joanne can be a snob, but that just adds to the realism. Too often, rom-coms revolve around the conceit that the central duo must be winning, while the third wheel that threatens their union is a total loser.
Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy, circa 1995
In Before Sunrise, one
possible in-
spiration, the
main stumbling
block is geo-
graphy. The movie ends before we find out whether the two travelers will meet again, a question Richard Linklater answers in the 2004 sequel Before Sunset. Does it matter whether Micah and Joanne wind up together or is it enough to spend a day in their company? I won't say how things turn out other than that Jenkins's debut is more polished than Aaron Katz's Quiet City, but scrappier than Linklater's studio duo—and I'm quite fond of all three.
But that doesn't mean it's a black film trying to be white, any more than recording artists like Bloc Party, Dangermouse, or the Dirtbombs are black or mixed artists trying to be white--or trying not to be black (Micah specifically mentions TV on the Radio). They are, instead, products of multi-cultural cities, like London, Atlanta, and Detroit. And Medicine for Melancholy does what the best films about relationships should do: it presents so many believable specifics that it becomes universal.
"I hate the city, but I love the city."
--Micah to Joanne
Medicine for Melancholy continues at the Northwest Film Forum through Thurs., 2/26. Director in attendance Mon.-Thurs. The NWFF is located at 1515 12th Ave. For more information, please click here or call 206-829-7863. Image from The New York Times via IFC Films.
MEDICINE FOR MELANCHOLY (Barry Jenkins, US, 2008, 87 mins.)
Photo by David Bornfriend
I'm so thrilled that this gorgeously shot and edited film is coming to our town! One of Filmmaker Magazine's "25 to Watch" last year, director Barry Jenkins has crafted something really special, with his partners in crime James Laxton (cinematographer) and Nat Sanders (editor; and the same man who edited my latest feature, Humpday). Please mark your calendar and come out to experience and celebrate this exquisite gem of a film!
-- Lynn Shelton to her mailing list
Most young urban dwellers have experienced something similar: the awkward morning after a one-night stand. The evening before could've been boom or bust. It doesn't really matter. Things always look—and feel—different in the cold, sober, and sometimes hungover light of day.
Micah (The Daily Show's Wyatt Cenac) tries to get a conversation going with Joanne (Tracey Heggins), but she seems more interested in grabbing a bite to eat, and then moving on with her day. Is she feeling guilt or regret? Does she find him unattractive now that she's gotten a closer look?
She may have valid reasons for her diffidence, but it's hard not to sympathize with Micah. He seems like a decent guy, and doesn't prevaricate, like admitting upfront that he didn't catch Joanne's name (she lies and says it's Angela). Whether or not he's hoping for something more, he's just trying to get to know the woman with whom he shared an intimate encounter...even if neither party remembers it very well.
The awkwardness escalates on the silent cab ride to their respective homes (their tryst took place at the house of a mutual friend). Then Joanne leaves the cab and walks out of his life. If that's all there was to it, Medicine for Melancholy, Barry Jenkins's first feature, would be a short, but these two will see each other again.
Medicine for Melancholy plays the Northwest Film Forum from Fri., 2/20, through Thurs., 2/26. Director in attendance Mon.-Thurs. (interview on the way). Shelton, Jenkins, and Nina Paley (Sita Sings the Blues) are competing for this year's Film Independent "Someone to Watch" Award. In addition, Laxton is up for best cinematography. The Independent Spirit Awards take place on Sat., 2/21, the day before the Oscar ceremony, and air on IFC at 5pm* and AMC at 10pm. The NWFF is located at 1515 12th Ave. For more information, please click here. Images from The Austin Chronicle and FirstShowing.Net.
* Pacific Standard time. It airs at 2pm on the East Coast.
Then Lucy is gone, and Wendy is stuck in a strange town, all alone with a dead car. No one is purposefully mean to her, and some of the locals, like Walter Dalton's security guard, are actually quite kind, but they can't solve all her problems.
And if she isn't an idiot, Wendy isn't exactly a rocket scientist either, i.e.
she's like most of us, regardless as to how she ended up in her predicament.
If while watching Half Nelson you thought, "But a crack addict shouldn't teach school," you'll surely agree with John Robinson's grocery clerk that poor people like Wendy shouldn't have pets, in which case this film isn't for you (and a little compassion might be in order). Then again, whenever I see a rich person feeding their dog chocolate, I tend to wonder if they should be allowed to have pets (Will Patton
and Larry Fessenden play two characters who cause Wendy further stress).
After her dog, Wendy is her own best friend and her own worst enemy. Intention-al or not, Reichardt's film also recalls Robert Bresson's Mouchette and Jean-Pierre
and Luc Dardenne's Rosetta. The impoverished women in those works aren't heroic either. They make bad choices, they suffer the consequences, but their directors don't judge them for their mistakes--not with so few options available to them.
Despite such distressing parallels, Reichardt hasn't made a tragedy. Wendy and
Lucy isn't even depressing, though it seems to start out that way. Instead, it ends
on a note of sadness that can also be read as possibility. It's all a matter of perspective. Where I see hope, you may see something completely different.
Since I first watched the movie in late December, I've had almost two months to
think about it, and whenever I do, I find myself flashing on Kris Kristofferson's uber-'60s lyrics for Janis Joplin's "Me and Bobby McGee," i.e. "Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose / nothing don't mean nothing, honey, if it ain't free..." By the end of the song, Bobby's gone, but the narrator lives on. Similarly, Wendy
is free from all ties and obligations, but can you be truly free in America without money? In prison, after all, even inmates get free room and board--at the tax-
payer's expense--but they can't have pets. It would be a spoiler to reveal whether or not Wendy finds Lucy. Suffice to say: she finds herself along the way.
[poster image TBA]
Wendy and Lucy continues at the Varsity Theater through Thurs., 2/12. The Varsity is located at 4329 University Way NE. For more information, please call 206-781-5755. According to L.Q. Jones, "A Boy and His Dog played in the Varsity…which was
the biggest theater at that time; we played...for twelve months in a row. It did humungous business. Unbelievable!" And he planned to title the sequel (never made, unfortunately): A Girl and Her Dog. Starting on 2/13, Wendy moves to the Northwest Film Forum, where it plays through Tues., 2/17. The NWFF is located at 1515 12th Ave. For more information, please call 206-829-7863. Images from Cinema Strikes Back, Cinematic Reflections, and Oscilloscope Pictures.
WENDY AND LUCY (Kelly Reichardt, US, 2008, 80 mins)
If a person can't afford dog food, then they shouldn't have a dog. --A grocery clerk sets Wendy straight
***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****
Once upon a time, the great character actor L.Q. Jones (The Wild Bunch, The Ballad of Cable Hogue) directed a little post-apocalyptic picture called A Boy and His Dog. To some, it's best known because Jones directed it. To others, it's best known because Don Johnson starred in it. Either way, the title has a pleasingly matter-of-fact ring.
The same could be said about the third film from Old Joy's Kelly Reichardt. Wendy (Michelle Williams. Meek's Cutoff) may not be living in a post-apocalyptic wasteland, like the dog lovers in A Boy or I Am Legend, but her situation isn't that much different from the homeless father and son in Cormac McCarthy's The Road (coming to the big screen later this year). All these duos have is each other. All Wendy has is her dog, Lucy.
When she first comes into view, Wendy is romping with Lucy in the Oregon woods as her humming permeates the soundtrack. In most movies, young person plus canine companion = good times. Wendy, as it turns out, is driving to Alaska to work in a cannery. Except for the golden retriever, she could be cinematic sister to Emile Hirsch's vagabond in Into the Wild as she's also traveled some distance to get to the Northwest, but she doesn't connect with other people the way he does. A glimpse at her notebook indicates that she originated in Nebraska or passed through it on the way to the West Coast. And that she's running out of money.
When her car won't start and the dog food runs out, it's clear that a world of hurt awaits. Yes, Wendy and Lucy is that kind of movie: the kind where the protagonist's situation goes from bad to worse before ending somewhere more enigmatic. As in Old Joy, Reichardt makes Wendy's trip into disappointment and diminished expectations one worth taking. Vittorio di Sica did the same in Bicycle Thieves and Umberto D. (the story of an old man and his dog), but it's tricky territory to navigate. And when Wendy breaks the law to provide for Lucy, the fix is in.
Wendy and Lucy opens at the Varsity Theater on Fri., 1/23. The Varsity is located at 4329 University Way NE. For more information, please call (206) 781-5755. As with Old Joy, Reichardt adapted the script from author/co-writer Jon Raymond's collection Livability (the original story is called "Train Choir"). Images from the IMDb (Michelle Williams and Lucy) Rotten Tomatoes (Don Johnson in A Boy and His Dog), and Oscilloscope Laboratories (Lucy, the director's dog), the new distribution company formed by Adam Yauch of the Beastie Boys.
A Chat with Tia Lessin (click here for part three)
Actually, he’s having us out to the Traverse City Film Festival next month.
He [Michael Moore] created the film festival a few years back. He renovated
a theater in Traverse City that he owns, so he’s inviting us to show the film.
That’s great, because that really, in a way, puts his stamp on it, as well.
Here’s another person saying: This is something I think you should see.
Like most everybody with any kind of conscience in this country, he had strong feelings about Katrina, so he was really happy to see this political, emotional film.
I read about how you ended up in New Orleans, and why you made the film,
but how did Kim and Scott, these specific people, come to your attention?
In the National Guard Armory, which you see in the film with the soldiers return-
ing; across the parking lot was the Red Cross shelter where Kimberly and Scott had arrived that night with 25 people in a truck, so their community—their friends and neighbors—were staying there, and they were down the road in a trailer, so they had this footage, they knew they had a story to tell, and they spotted us from the street.
How funny.
[Lessin and Deal originally intended to make a film about the
redeployment of the National Guard from Iraq to New Orleans.]
[image]
The view from Kimberley's attic
The story that Kim and Scott tell is that they saw us, we looked important, and
they honed right in. So that’s really how the film begins, with Kimberly essentially interrupting the interview Carl was doing with the head of the Red Cross shelter. Some people call it serendipity, some people call it fate—it happened to be Carl’s 40th birthday. Look, there are a lot of people with incredible stories to tell, and they’re not really extraordinary storytellers like Kimberly. I think that was really—
the footage she had was important ultimately, but also her voice, her ability, and
her invitation for us to get on the road with them to see how their story turns out.
That’s amazing that she found you.
And we were looking for a story to tell, there’s no question about it, and we also realized that it was the personal story that was lacking, that we weren’t seeing in
the news media, and we objected to how the residents of New Orleans were being characterized. They were either victims or they were looters, and Kimberly and Scott presented this opportunity to tell a story of survivors, of powerful resourceful people who were nobody’s victims, so they were looking for someone to help them get the story out, we were looking for someone…our objectives were aligned, let’s say that.
And you end up getting their community’s story out, too—not that Scott and Kim-
berly wouldn’t be interesting enough, but other people come on board, as well. I wanted to ask you, and I know you don’t have much time to go in to detail, but I’m sure not everyone realizes she had a baby at Sundance. I’m wondering how else their lives have changed since the film, because they go through so many changes during the course of it, through moving to Memphis, and other things that happen.
The thing I’m starting to think about Kim and Scott is that they have used ev-
ery crisis in their lives as an opportunity. I mean, they’ve been through a lot of storms—whether related to Katrina or not—and they have emerged from the other end stronger, and so they decided to have a baby, and not just to have a baby, but they decided they were in a good place where they could have a baby, and where they had created a good environment in which that would be possible. Kimberly has also recorded a new album, and they created a record company called Born Hustler Re-
cords. You can look at the website at bornhustlerrecords.com. She's selling it in con-
junction with the film’s release, so some of the songs you hear on our soundtrack are on this album, and many more. And they’re raising this beautiful little girl. And
I guess the one other thing, she’s been traveling around with this film. And unfor-
tunately, she wasn’t able to come to Seattle, but they’ve been to New York, they’ve been to Utah. They’ve been able to see audiences respond, really emotionally, to the film and their story, and I think that has been life-changing for them.
After Hoop Dreams came out, there was some talk about the fact—and the film-
makers were open about this—there’s a point in which the electricity gets turned
off for one of the subjects, and the filmmakers pay the bill. And in the film, the lights go off, then they're back, and the film moves on. I’m wondering how you and Carl feel about this, when you’re watching people going through a crisis. Is it wrong to do something like that, or is it something you don’t even have to talk about?
First of all, Kimberly and Scott aren't just subjects in this film. They contributed to it.
I think that’s how the Hoop Dreams directors felt, too:
We’re in these people’s faces with cameras at all times, so...
Right. She also had footage, which we licensed. We paid commercial rates, so: yes.
I don’t have a problem with it. And since then, I think the issue isn’t as contro-
versial as it was at that time, but then what do you do, leave these people with-
out electricity? That’s your only other choice, at least in the case of Hoop Dreams.
Everybody has a different situation, and I think documentary filmmakers need to interrogate themselves about their relationships with—Carl’s and Tia’s situation in this world is quite different from Kimberly’s and Scott’s. We have a lot of power and privilege that we try to keep in check, and we interrogate ourselves all the time.
That’s good, and I like your clarification. It’s important to remember, as viewers, that they might be subjects to us, but not to you. That’s a good point to make.
We licensed their footage, but we pretty much kept out of their
lives as much as we could, because they had a lot to do. [laughs]
And she seemed pretty comfortable. I love that line in the film where someone asks, ‘Do you always travel around with a film crew?’ I thought that was great.
That was literally after only about a week with us. She was a natural.
[image]
Tia and Carl
Trouble the Water is now available on DVD. For more information,
please click here. Images from The Mercury News, indieWIRE, and Zeitgeist Films.
Right: Kimberly Rivers Roberts clutches a favorite photo
How did Danny Glover come to be involved with Trouble the Water; had he seen the completed film or had he seen a portion of it...?
I guess the film had been about two years in the making, so he saw the rough cut we had after we came back from the Sundance Labs, and he had heard about the film, and so he--it was actually Jocelyn Barnes, his producing partner, somebody I've known for many, many years, and I've always liked her work. She came to one of our-we were screening the film a lot over the fall to kind of hone it--and she came in, and she was pretty stunned, and we were really needing to finish things at that point, and she said, "I need to show it to him. He's really gonna love this film." And so shortly thereafter, we got a call from Danny, and he was very moved by it.
That's awesome, because I know he's not going to put his name on just anything. You can tell from his credits, whether it's a documentary or a fiction film, what's going to appeal to him. It fits in with his interests. I interviewed John Sayles last year about Honeydripper, and asked if he and Glover talked about politics while shooting, and he said, 'Yeah, we did a little bit,' because they're both such political people, but he said what they mostly talked about--and I'm sure Danny's mentioned this to you, as well--is the Haitian film he's working on.
Yeah, that's right.
John said it's his dream project, and he's working hard on that, and he has, fortunately-and unfortunately because it's kind of controversial-a friendship with Hugo Chavez, who's helping by letting him film in Venezuela. I was looking on the IMDb, and he's gathered this list of fantastic actors, so it looks pretty exciting.
A lot of high-value actors.
Yes, Don Cheadle and Chiwetel Ejiofor, sounds like he's getting things
together. I hope it all happens for him, because it sounds very ambitious.
They [Glover and Barnes] have created this company called Louverture- after Toussaint Louverture, who their film is about-and so, yeah, they're helping to support a lot of filmmakers who do work that is socially rele- vant and commercially viable. It's wonderful. In other words, he's not only lending his name, they're lending their resources as a company.
He came to town [to introduce Trouble the Water].
I'm sorry I missed him.
Yeah, he flew in from Senegal. He was there for a celebration of the filmmaker Ousmane Sembene, and flew straight from there to here. That was quite lovely.
Is it true, by the way, that he has a home in Portland? If so, that's kind of convenient. He was actually here--this is the second time I've missed him--just a few months ago with Charles Burnett for a screening of Namibia.
That's what I heard, at the African American Film Festival. I know that he's got a home in Berkeley or Oakland--in the Bay Area.
So, I have to ask: Has Michael Moore seen Trouble the Water?
He absolutely has.
What did he say about it?
He saw it the first time when they flew us out there. Ask him yourself--he was very proud.
He was here recently with Sicko, but I wasn't one of the people who got the chance to interview him.
This film is quite informed by our working with him...
But Kimberly [Rivers Roberts] is really the narrator.
That's right, but there are things in our film that you can see are influenced by Roger and Me and Fahrenheit 911. And it has a strong point of view. It's our point of view, but told by an outsider, so I don't think it has Moore's voice, but it has his spirit. More to come...
Left: Kimberly and husband Scott
Oscar nominations will be announced on Thurs., Jan 22, and Trouble the Water remains a top doc contender. Though most play dates have passed, it continues at San Francisco's Sundance Kabuki Cinema through Feb 8. Lisa Schwarzbaum, David Denby, and Roger Ebert have included it on their top 10 lists. Images: Zeitgeist Films, Santa Barbara Independent, and the IMDb.
Coverage of the Seattle International Film Festival and year-round art house programming in the Pacific Northwest.
Kathy Fennessy is former president of Seattle Film Critics Society, a Northwest Film Forum board member, and a Tomatometer-approved critic. She writes or has written for Amazon, Minneapolis's City Pages, Resonance, Rock and Roll Globe, Seattle Sound, and The Stranger.
Were this a Dreyer film, there would be no nude bathing scenes or deep soul kisses, but Reygadas (Japón, Battle in Heaven) puts his own earthy spin on the genre rather than recreating what's come before. That said, the outdoor bathing ends when winter sets in, indicating that months have passed and Johan is still vacillating between his wife and his mistress.
